


Shelter From The Storm

by mansikka



Series: Wings [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean loves storms.</p><p>Ever since he was a kid, he’s been fascinated by them. The moment a storm starts up, no matter where they are, he has stopped whatever he is doing and just watched.</p><p>The pounding of the relentless rain is soothing to his ears. Lightning makes him hold his breath, and thunder gives him a settled kind of feeling deep in his chest. Storms are one of the few times he takes for himself to just pause, to not think, or do anything.</p><p>He’s standing in the porchway of the motel he and Sam are currently in, picking up a lead from a local newspaper clipping that’s got them scratching their heads. Sam is in their room, head bent over his laptop with a deep furrow between his eyes as he comes up with no answers whatsoever.</p><p>Dean knows he should be in there looking with him, but he can’t drag his eyes away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From The Storm

Dean loves storms.

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been fascinated by them. The moment a storm starts up, no matter where they are, he has stopped whatever he is doing and just watched.

The pounding of the relentless rain is soothing to his ears. Lightning makes him hold his breath, and thunder gives him a settled kind of feeling deep in his chest. Storms are one of the few times he takes for himself to just pause, to not think, or do anything.

He’s standing in the porchway of the motel he and Sam are currently in, picking up a lead from a local newspaper clipping that’s got them scratching their heads. Sam is in their room, head bent over his laptop with a deep furrow between his eyes as he comes up with no answers whatsoever.

Dean knows he should be in there looking with him, but he can’t drag his eyes away.

There are a few cars in the parking lot he’s looking out over, the rain striking more asphalt than metal in a soft thudding sound, different to the tinny one he’d expect if the lot was full. There’s a breeze too, and the trees are almost swaying, the rain pitter-pattering on leaves adding to the gallery of sounds. The sky lights up; the horizon is dotted with dark looming tree outlines, with the occasional building jutting up in between, square, and strong.

Power must be out a town over, because off to his right, it’s completely pitch black. But to the left, and right in front of him, streetlights dot the landscape, and he wonders if anyone is out in there the storm, soaking wet.

Thunder rumbles, and Dean closes his eyes with a smile. It’s a deep, extended kind of rumble that he feels to his very fingertips. He reaches out hands, letting them pass out of the shelter of the porch where he’s standing, to feel the rain on his fingers and hear the splatting of raindrops on the leather of his jacket.

A warm hand slides into his, and he doesn’t even flinch, just smiles a little deeper.

“Good one tonight, Cas,” he says softly, cracking an eye open to catch Cas’ affectionate amusement.

“All storms are equally beautiful to me, Dean. I have watched them since before there was anything but land to fall on. And when there was nothing but tall ferns to catch the rain, thick forests of early trees that bowed under the weight of water falling.”

Dean sighs a little, squeezing his hand. “I like your ‘storm stories’,” he tells him, leaning in as though he is telling him this in confidence.

For a moment they are silent, stood hand in hand, watching as the rain falls, and lightning occasionally lights up the sky.

“Walk with me, Dean?”

Dean spins towards him a little, hitching up an eyebrow. “Uh. Much as I love storms, don’t fancy getting soaked. Think I’ll stay right here, thanks,”

Cas steps out into the rain, facing him.

The solitary light over the porch flickers, and there’s a shadow there that is unmistakably wing-shaped. Dean’s eyes widen; by rights Cas should already be getting wet, but his perfectly messed up hair is no more out of place than it normally is.

“I will keep you dry, Dean.” Cas promises, extending a hand.

Dean takes it, stepping towards him and looking up curiously as Cas’ wings curl over him protectively. They walk, far enough for the light of the motel to disappear behind them entirely, leaving them stood in what feels like the middle nowhere, with no sounds around them but the whisper of rain on feathers that they stand beneath, perfectly dry.

Dean really, really loves storms.

Cas drops his hand, coming to stand behind him and wrap his arms around from behind. It’s a familiar gesture, with his hand falling over the shadow of the mark he’d left when he’d raised Dean so long ago, then, as now, holding him firm against his chest without the thought of ever letting him go.

Dean leans into it, his head falling back a little as his eyes keep to the horizon, enjoying the peacefulness that the image gives him as well as the overall feeling of whatever it is that he gets from Cas. Home, perhaps, or safety, or even just contentment. Whatever the feeling is, it’s a good one, and Dean savours it.

When he returns the motel room much later, Sam stares at him curiously, taking in the wet of his boots but how dry the rest of him is. Dean shrugs, sitting down with a grin and bending to unlace them, and Sam grins back at the top of his head.

“How’s Cas?” he asks, letting Dean know exactly why he’s smirking when he looks up.

“He’s good,” Dean replies, with a grin that doesn’t disappear all night.

  
  
  



End file.
